writing

Episode 4: A Lovers Spat

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Archival Image, Wuthering Heights, 1920

Silent gravel in the driveway, deafening clock in the hall, everything whispers anxiously. A back is turned to hide its increasing anxiety, compulsive shrugs walk away. Her shoulders wet with thunder settle like a paper cut on her soul. Confused by the bearing of the question successfully she feigns interest. Her nose wrinkles, he shifts on his feet, she, modest and unadorned. Somehow he knows her even before she knows herself. Somehow she knows him even before she knows herself. He thinks what does she want? ‘I can’t really say.’. She; silent except for exclamations of gibberish, he can tell by her pulse. Lips pursed in disgust betraying the economy of her face.

I don’t spend too much time around people, treachery, hypocrisy, the promise of love, look into the mouth of a person and you’ll find nothing but lies wriggling there…and you cling…there is no vocabulary to hush this conflict…detached poems speak voices of the dead. ….and you cling…and her fury renders her speechless…and it clings…a stain on the tip of her tongue…a ghost building, silhouettes of words where a certain set of gestures are housed.

Like any clandestine affair my glasses aren’t rose tinted, they are cracked, splintered, broken, smothered in the dirt of you, black excretions of filth exuding through the cracks, the grime of you inhabits […] the stench of you burns […] in my nostrils, rolls around like grit in my eyes, feels like ash in my mouth; I roll your name around lovingly on my tongue, caressing you...and it clings. I roll you around in my mouth and you grate, setting my teeth on the edge. The grime of you inhabits every pore, dirty, filthy little memories secreted away, skin seething like ants. No amount of washing can erase your sweet aroma, your putrid stench, your incessant demands, your impenetrability, your indifference, your excess, I sold my soul for you. I have holes in my soul for you. Still you beckoned me with your availability, your parlour games, your desire to cater to every whim, the promise to fulfil any fantasy. Your body gorged my vision. Replete with the extent of you, I could never see the end of you, never see beyond you, never get outside you, never get inside you…yet…always the feeling of you moving inside me. And it clings, and it rings and the falling begins…

“You know, you spat at me,” she said. “You had a drop of spittle come flying across in your goddamned passion. You spat, and it hit me.”

AAH Annual Conference, University of Cambridge

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I am pleased to announce I will be presenting at the above conference in April, responding to the panel Art History: Facts and Fiction? My paper is entitled: Excavating the Ephemeral through Performative Archival Practice: Fact, Fiction and Fieldwork.

This panel explores a neglected tradition in art history: the strategic use of fictional elements in scholarly writing. We seek to examine the scope of this underexplored practice and consider the benefits, challenges and legacies of such creative strategies. The use of such elements in art history is long-standing. Vasari, for example, drew on Italian novelistic traditions in The Lives of the Artists to craft compelling historical narratives, an aspect of art historical writing that is often overlooked.

Yet, as Hayden White observed, the writing of history is ‘at once poetic, scientific and philosophical.’ Fictional perspectives have been employed in the humanities more widely to challenge prevailing conceptions and to address archival gaps. Examples include Clifford Geertz’s ‘faction,’ which addresses the fiction of the neutral anthropological observer and Saidiya Hartman’s critical fabulation, which blends historical research with critical theory and fictional narrative to amplify suppressed voices, particularly those of enslaved people. Donna Haraway’s speculative fabulation also needs to be mentioned here, which combines fact and fiction to explore complex issues and imagine possible futures, while Gerald Vizenor’s ‘Native American slipstream’ employs time travel and alternate realities to explore ‘Indigenous’ worldviews, perspectives on history and conception of futurity.

We welcome papers that explore fictional elements in art history, visual culture, and material culture studies, examining specific applications and/or their relationship to broader interdisciplinary trends in the humanities. We invite presentations on both personal experiences with employing such strategies as well as critical analysis of such work in the field.

Our Annual Conference brings together international research and critical debate about art, art history and visual cultures. This key annual event is an opportunity to keep up to date with new research, hear leading keynotes, broaden networks and exchange ideas.

Episode 3 The Reluctant Pilgrim

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Top Withens, reputed site of Wuthering Heights (Brontë, 1847), photograph by Samuel Vale, Executive Producer and Director of Photography

The ice on the path snapped, crackled and splintered underneath the soles of their walking boots. The ground was frozen solid. She felt as though she were walking with two blocks of ice strapped to her feet. She could feel the ground in her knees. The sound of her boots walking on frozen ground was like the crunching of bones. The chill of the wind sweeping across the moors caused her teeth to chatter in her head like a pair of castanets. Emily writes, she writes: “I lingered under that benign sky watched the moths fluttering among the heather and harebells, listened to the soft wind breathing through the grass”. I remembered there is a spot mid barren hills where winter howls still, bringing a chill to the marrow.

By this time her toes were numb and every step was agony, her boots were rather too small, she made a reluctant pilgrim. She had lost track of time by stopping to take photographs on the way but photographs of what exactly? A seemingly vast, empty and undifferentiated landscape that she experienced as a rupture or a disjunction. The landscape was not easy to assimilate. it remained resolute and other. She was in the middle of it but couldn’t get into it, so she remained steadfastly on it for the duration of the walk. Time and space expanded in multiple directions on the Moors like the ripples on a pond. Three hours of walking felt like three years of living. The closer they got to Top Withens the further away it seemed to. Be. For an age it remained a tiny speck on the horizon.

He disappeared over a mound and briefly she found herself alone with naught but a wuthering wind whistling around her eardrums and flapping against her face. How exactly was she to report any of this back to George? She was famished.

On the 18th of May 1893, Top Withens was struck by lightning during a thunderstorm. Holes were made in the wall, the roof was partially torn off, flags were cracked, and around 30 windows were almost completely removed. A portion of slate was thrown far from the house by the wind, and in the kitchen the blade of a knife had been fused by the heat.

Thesis Preface: Mnemonic Residues-The Curated Ruin as Fictional Trace

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Fig. 1: Film Still, Letters to the Landscape, 2025, Episode 1 Epistles, Branwell Brontë’s Desk, Installation by Simon Armitage, Brontë Parsonage Museum

Fig.1 depicts Branwell Brontë’s desk at the Parsonage, part of Simon Armitage’s installation.

The desk is presented not merely as an archival object, but as a curated scene.

While Emily Brontë’s writing desk inspired this project, its modest size and protective casing rendered it visually elusive. In contrast, Branwell’s desk is prominent, cluttered, tactile, and performative. It transforms the archive into an encounter, where memory is actively constructed rather than simply preserved.

However, this is not strictly Branwell’s desk. It serves as a symbolic object, representing both a failed legacy and a speculative presence. The surrounding items are deliberately arranged, their authenticity uncertain. What matters is not whether they are real, but what they perform: a residue of ambition, a trace of authorship unmade.

The desk functions as a surrogate archive, a site where silence is staged, absence made visible. It embodies not Branwell himself, but the concept of Branwell, a mnemonic placeholder in literary history.

My entire PhD could be characterised as an attempt to crack open this image—to deconstruct its rhetoric of display, interrogate the politics of preservation, the aesthetics of collecting, and the archive’s desire to hold what cannot be kept, to capture what cannot be retained.

This is where the work begins…

Let us go you and I, let us begin by walking, together, into the landscape.

The wind on the moor carries more than weather, it carries memory, sediment, and the ghostly residue of letters never sent…

Fig.2 Top Withens, reputed site of Wuthering Heights (1847), photograph by Samuel Vale

Dispatches 03/02/2024: Today, there is a 65% chance of precipitation. The temperature is 5 degrees, but it feels like 2. The wind direction is South, at a speed of 9 miles per hour. Humidity is at 73% and visibility is very good. The sun rose at 7.39 am and set at 4 pm.

This is how the day began, A weather report. A mood. A trace.

It’s not just data, it’s atmosphere. It sets the tone for a fieldwork that is not simply visual but experiential, even visceral. Not evidentiary, but affective.

In Letters to the Landscape (2025), I return to Brontë Country not to recover a lost past, but to trace the gesture of its dispersal.

This thesis begins with a walk: a slow, deliberate movement through terrain marked by literary inheritance and vernacular forgetting. The film, composed of fragments, postcards, voiceovers, and archival stills, does not seek to reconstruct history, but to perform its dislocation. Through a speculative feminist lens, I engage with the archive not as a repository, but as a site of haunting and (re)collection. Drawing on Derrida’s notion of spectrality (1994) and Schneider’s theory of the explicit body (1997), I ask: What remains when the archive is touched, not read? What kinds of knowledge emerge when history is felt rather than narrated? What happens when the archive is performed rather than preserved?    

These provocations set the stage for a research journey that is as much about unearthing as about unsettling, as much about absence as about presence.

These fragments, objects, weather, walk, and archive embody the approach this thesis will take, moving between the material and the imagined, the evidentiary and the affective, the archive and the field, they set the mood and method for what follows. In what remains of this introduction, I move from the poetics of encounter to the conceptual and methodological frameworks that underpin this research.

From here, I turn to map the conceptual terrain, outlining the research questions, and situating my practice within the intersecting traditions of chorography, speculative feminist historiography, and creative fieldwork. The following section introduces the research context and background, main aims, themes, and structure of the thesis, and describes how the performative and speculative methods evoked here will be developed throughout its sections and into Brontë Country and beyond.

This is also where the work begins…

The Annotated Wuthering Heights

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Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights has been called the most beautiful, most profoundly violent love story of all time. At its center are Catherine and Heathcliff, and the self-contained world of Wuthering Heights, Thrushcross Grange, and the wild Yorkshire moors that the characters inhabit. “I am Heathcliff”, Catherine declares. In her introduction Janet Gezari examines Catherine’s assertion and in her notes maps it to questions that flicker like stars in the novel s dark dreamscape. How do we determine who and what we are? What do the people closest to us contribute to our sense of identity? The Annotated Wuthering Heights provides those encountering the novel for the first time as well as those returning to it with a wide array of contexts in which to read Brontë’s romantic masterpiece. Gezari explores the philosophical, historical, economic, political, and religious contexts of the novel and its connections with Brontë’s other writing, particularly her poems. The annotations unpack Brontës allusions to the Bible, Shakespeare, and her other reading; elucidate her references to topics including folklore, educational theory, and slavery; translate the thick Yorkshire dialect of Joseph, the surly, bigoted manservant at the Heights; and help with other difficult or unfamiliar words and phrases. Handsomely illustrated with many color images that vividly recreate both Brontë’s world and the earlier Yorkshire setting of her novel, this newly edited and annotated text will delight and instruct the scholar and general reader alike.

Image and text reproduced from Amazon (accessed 18/12/25)